


An oath made a little closer

by absolutedisasterbi



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutedisasterbi/pseuds/absolutedisasterbi
Summary: Holmes finds words misleading when it comes to feelings. He prefers the sincerity of caresses. But Watson only trusts the surety of words. Are all their attempts at communication doomed to fail?





	An oath made a little closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap_Roxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Roxy/gifts).
  * A translation of [Un serment fait d'un peu plus près](https://archiveofourown.org/works/763480) by [Cap_Roxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Roxy/pseuds/Cap_Roxy). 



John Watson was stretched out on his stomach, completely relaxed on his bed with clean sheets, his head buried in a pile of pillows. He breathed in deeply; heavens, he liked that smell – his smell. A mix of tobacco, old books and soap. He soaked them up, until he needed air. He then turned his head to avoid suffocating and found himself facing him.

While he was lying down, Holmes had sat down at his desk. At present he was laid on his side.

He began to examine him. He had apparently not shaved for more than a week. Despite this, he was something of a male Snow White with his clear skin, illuminated then by the radiant morning sun, his dark hair, messy and silky, and his damaged lips, ruby-tinged. These colours went perfectly with the grey storm of his eyes. Eyes which were fixed on him.

What were they looking for? What had they seen? What, from that, had he deduced?

He instantly forgot the questions formulating in his mind when a thin, searing hand was placed on his caramel shoulder to reveal the vest which served as his pyjamas and slid slowly along the full length of his naked arm. He closed his eyes, shivers of pleasure running all along his body.

He would have wanted that instant to last for an eternity but as soon as that wish crossed his mind, he no longer felt that intoxicating touch against his skin. What was Holmes doing? Was this – again – one of his stupid experiments on human reactions? He threw him a look which he would have wanted to be dark but was in reality more on the side of disappointment.

The detective seemed to reflect, and it was then that his flatmate felt the flawed lips, all over his skin. A kiss, delicately dropped on his neck, wrested from him a moan of contentment. The brunet smiled and caressed with his thumb the blushing cheek of the young doctor.

The young doctor in question was dying to tell him how much he loved him, to kiss him fully on the lips, to feel his heat, there, all for him, all in him. But it wasn’t the moment, it was a lot, a lot too soon. He hadn’t yet had the chance and risked seeming mad, he thought gloomily.

So, he settled for nestling against him, like something between friends, listening to his slow, regular breathing. “It’s comforting,” he thought.

That wasn’t at all to Sherlock’s taste. As agreeable to being amicably cuddled as he was, he was highly frustrated that the doctor refused to understand his silent confession.

The caresses resumed, confusing Watson anew – who, without understanding how he had got there, found his chest bare, a delicate hand brushing past one of the blemishes on his exposed pink skin. 

The doctor began to feel a tightness in his trousers. His housemate swiftly realised this and undid a single button.

He groaned; it wasn’t enough. Or perhaps it was too much, it was difficult to say.

As if to make amends, the man with quicksilver eyes deposited a large number of kisses along the other’s jaw, up to the edge of his lips. He then stopped. John, pushing him back with one hand, leaned on the other while moving backwards. 

It mustn’t happen like this, he must not let himself be dominated by his desires, not if… not if…

“Not if you don’t love me.”

He felt stupid, to throw away what would be, without doubt, the only chance to satisfy his greatest fantasy. But, despite everything, he refused to be pushed around by the detective. The only things holding him back of course, were his feelings. But he knew that his love prevented his remorse. And with his remorse, he refused to impose on the man he loved.

A small, selfish part of him would not allow the idea that what would be the most beautiful moment in his life would remain a mistake in Holmes’s memory. A small laugh brought him out of his thoughts. 

“What are you thinking of John?”

Holmes seriously began to question if he had chosen the best method to understand his feelings, even if he now had the confirmation that they were reciprocated.

“Did I take the risk of sleeping with one of the only people capable of tolerating me for him to then claim that it was an act completely devoid of sentiment? Do I really have such a foul expression?”

Watson shook his head in way of response. Clearly not, but he couldn’t help but doubt. Why would the greatest detective in the world, revered genius, be interested in a simple doctor like him? He had to be sure.

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“With words. Words which you wouldn’t say lightly.”

Holmes was trapped. Of course, he would have, without lying, been able to say those words. Only how was he to say them and make him understand that it wasn’t only to satisfy some purely physical need? But to not say them would be to suggest that he did not think them...

“You first.”

It was quite laughable. In fact, it was absolutely ridiculous, but it had the advantage of giving him time to think. There was a long silence fuelled by embarrassment and hesitation.

At the point they were at, what did they have to lose?

“Sherlock Holmes, I… I love you.”

The doctor, after having declared this in a solemn though unsure tone, had turned red as a beet and watched his friend, damp eyes a mixture of hope and fear, the genius’s last neuron melted. He smiled.

“Nor do I.”

And, in order to prevent any reply, he pressed his lips against those of his love. He pushed at them with care, licking them, sucking them, nibbling them lovingly. The other man, after a moment of fighting his own desire, finally gave way. He half opened his mouth, and their breaths mixed, hot, humid. Then it was their tongues’ turns to meet, to stroke each other, to slide against each other as the two men tasted each other for the first time. Their bodies, moving together in a tender embrace, quivered with shared pleasure.

This time, it was the detective’s turn to move away, breaking off the delicious contact that was their kiss. Under the dazed gaze of his partner, he was satisfied with smiling, then leaving, as if nothing had happened, to prepare breakfast. 

The doctor frowned and resigned to abandon every attempt to understand the actions of Holmes, before throwing an annoyed look at the lump which had formed in his half-open trousers due to his erection. Apparently, he would again have to give himself release alone. 

He had really hoped after his housemate’s declaration. Because it had been a declaration, hadn’t it? Or perhaps not. He carelessly slid a hand into his undergarments, attempting to forget the questions which assailed him. They still turned about in his mind ten minutes later, when he exited the bedroom.

Sherlock was still in the kitchen, singing God knows what, but Watson didn’t pay attention, preoccupied by something altogether different. Half a dozen words written on a piece of paper, on the living room table.

“Nor do I, I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best to translate this into English without losing too much of the meaning - I've never done a translation this big before and I've never posted any kind of fic. If you liked it then send some love in Cap_Roxy's direction.


End file.
